A Narnian Prophecy
by Samwise Baggins
Summary: To save Narnia, Peter would do much; to save Edmund, he would do anything.
1. Summer Dawns

Chapter Title: Summer Dawns

Author: Sam

Story: A Narnian Prophecy: 01 of ?

Characters: Peter, Lucy, Edmund, Susan, Mr. Tumnus, Oreius, Mr. & Mrs. Beaver, OC's, and a surprise guest.

Rating: T: Some violence

Summary: To save Narnia, Peter would do much; to save Edmund, he would do anything.

Spoiler: _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ (mainly), _Prince Caspian_, _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ (a bit), and _The Silver Chair_ (a bit), with possible shadows of _The Horse and His Boy_.

Category: Fantasy, Drama, Angst

Disclaimer: _The Chronicles of Narnia_, and all seven of the titles therein, are were written by C.S. Lewis. The movies were produced by: (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe) Walt Disney Pictures and Walden Media; (Prince Caspian) Walt Disney Pictures, Walden Media, Ozumi Films, Propeler, Silverbell Films, and Stillking Films; and (The Voyage of the Dan Treader) Fox 2000 Pictures, Walden Media, and Dune Entertainment (in association). I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. The passages which are underlined were written by C.S. Lewis; again I do not claim them. I have borrowed them to share a story . . . and most likely not a story C.S. Lewis would have written, had he had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment and that of free entertainment to a select group. Thank you.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Setting: Movie-verse: Mainly Cair Paravel, but may wander abroad at times

Note: The Ruined City in the _Silver Chair_ is unnamed and centuries old. Its only identifier is that it is within view of Harfang.

Second Note: This story used to be titled "A Midsummer Night's Horror".

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

xxx

When King Peter awoke, nothing about the sunny summer morning forewarned him of the coming events. Only a year had passed since his coronation as High King of Narnia, but some days he longed for the freedom of childhood he'd chosen to leave behind. That bright, warm day was just such a time.

With a luxurious stretch, Peter finally rolled out of bed and let his bare feet sink into the plush dark blue carpeting, a hallmark of his suite at Cair Paravel. Almost as if on cue, his bed chamber door opened to admit the Narnians who'd volunteered to serve as his valets. He hadn't wanted any, but they'd been so insistent, the high King had finally relented, as had his siblings and fellow rulers of Narnia. The pair began the morning ritual of preparing their King for the day to come.

Finally, after what seemed like forever to the restless sixteen-year-old, the Faun and Dwarf stepped back. Peter was privately glad it hadn't been two of the furred or feathered denizens of Narnia that had volunteered to serve as valets; that would have been too awkward for him to get used to. It had been hard enough allowing someone else tend to his personal needs, let alone having a Badger or Beaver or Rabbit pressing his underclothes or dressing him. It had taken some time just to get used to the talking Beasts that inhabited the beautiful country of Narnia; at times Peter still did a double-take when addressed by them.

Smiling his gratitude to the two loyal retainers, Peter moved towards his window, intent on enjoying at least a few moments of the glorious summer morning before going about his royal duties. Before him lay a breath-taking view of Narnia to the north, rolling hills and noble forests, roaring rivers and thundering waterfalls… Narnia had quickly wormed its way into his innermost heart

An unexpected chill sent a shiver down his back and Peter wondered just why that was. Frowning, troubled, the blond-haired youth left his chamber, quickly heading down the marbled stairs to a series of sunny withdrawing rooms. Unable to puzzle out his discomfort, Peter started glancing into each room he passed, looking for one of his siblings… any sibling would do; he just wanted the company of a long-familiar friend.

"Oh, Peter, look what Mr. Tumnus leant me."

Walking into the beautiful room, which was decorated in shades of rose and soft yellow, Peter smiled at his youngest sister. Tall, clear windows with window seats in them lined two of the walls, while the other two sported tapestries denoting gay garden and summer scenes. One large tapestry depicted a bonfire with fauns and satyrs dancing about, sparks shooting up from the orange, red, and yellow depths. It was a sunny, happy room, and by far a favorite of the four Pevensie siblings.

"What is it, Lucy?" He noticed a worn leather-bound volume embossed with faded gold lettering in her hand; the book appeared to be old with torn pages and water damage. As she enthusiastically jumped up from the window seat in which she'd been apparently reading, Lucy's movements made identifying the book's title impossible. With a smile, the sixteen-year-old gently pulled his nine-year-old sister into an affectionate hug.

She titled her head to look up at him, her auburn hair rippling over her back, very much longer than it had been when they'd had their coronation. With a laugh, practically dancing in her delight, Lucy pulled back from Peter's embrace and caught hold of his hand, tugging him to the window seat. The pair sank down onto the comfortable cushions.

"It's a book on Narnian legends, Peter, see?" She eagerly, though carefully, flipped through the pages until she got to a specific entry. In a clear voice, she read the familiar rhyme aloud:

"Wrong will come aright

When Aslan comes in sight.

At the sound of his roar

Sorrows will be no more.

When he bares his teeth

Winter meets its death.

And when he shakes his mane

We shall have spring again."

Her finger fairly flew over the passages. The familiar words brought back that night they'd heard the name of Aslan for the first time; once more a glorious, wild joy rippled through the two. Lucy smiled briefly up at Peter then moved her fingers to caress the facing page, letting the sensation go. Her voice was just as excited, however. "This one's about us, and there's even more to it than Mr. Beaver said."

Nodding, Peter eased the book from her excitedly fluttering hands. Sometimes his little sister reminded him of a bird just waiting to burst forth with the first song of springtime. Out loud he read:

"A daughter travels from a foreign land

Against the evil to make a stand

Narnia's fate lies in her hand

And though a faun does traitor start

Friendship's plea shall warm his heart

From stone, returns to play his part

How bitter treacherous lies do taste

A future king betrays his race

Then, learning well, resumes his place

Thus Beasts of Narnia in winter's thrall

Rise for freedom, the queen to fall

A fair-haired youth shall lead them all

Join voice of reason, gentle, wise

Swift and true her arrow flies

As springtime blossoms winter dies

When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone

Sits at Cair Paravel, enthroned

The evil time will be over and done"

His smile widened as he reached the end. "So, we are indeed legends," the blond teased. "I don't know, Lu; I still feel human. When do I get to walk among the stars?"

"Walk among the stars?" sounding confused, Lucy took the book back and perused the page once more, frowning. "Where does it say that?"

Peter laughed and tugged a lock of her pretty hair. "It doesn't. I was referring to the legend of Hercules." At her continued frown, he merely shook his head and said, "Never mind. Any other interesting legends?"

Lucy nodded enthusiastically, her sunny smile once more blossoming, turning what could be a merely nice face into one of prettiness; Peter was sure she'd be a raving beauty when she grew up. He bent closer as Lucy flipped carefully through the book to find another verse that interested her, ending on a page which had been mostly destroyed, only a few lines legible:

"As the smallest flower on the vine appears,

A queen of Narnia will dry her tears.

When Narnia heals the one unseen,

She will ally with Narnia's king.

A song to conquer Narnia's foe

And from the ash a rose will grow."

The young girl looked up at her brother and sighed. "Isn't it pretty in a sad sort of way? A king and queen of Narnia had a fight, but when it turned spring, they made up so they could defeat their enemy. And after all that, they rebuilt." She caressed the gold etchings on the page, silently rereading the brief passage that was visible through the damage.

Thoughtfully, Peter reread the lines as well. "Did you ask Tumnus when this happened… is it merely a legend?" At Lucy's head shake, he went on. "What I mean, Lucy, is that it almost sounds, well… generic. It could be about any of the Narnian royalty, can't it?" He traced the lettering carefully. "See here? This 'queen of Narnia' could easily be you or Susan after a fight with me or Edmund."

His sister nodded at his words but suddenly shook her head. "No, I'm not so sure, Peter. I mean, if it were about us, wouldn't it be more about Edmund since he was the one who… well… _betrayed_," the word seemed forced, and Lucy rushed on to cover her discomfort with the entire memory of Edmund's betrayal a year before, "us? It would say 'a _king_ of Narnia will dry _his_ tears'. Then, later on right here it would say '_He_ will ally with Narnia's king'." She turned earnest blue eyes up to Peter. "Wouldn't it?"

He had to admit that her version would make much more sense when compared to their own situation, but the poem could be translated as a prophecy about a future fight between one of the sisters and one of the brothers; of course, it most likely wasn't about them at all. Peter voiced his suggestion out loud, "Well, it mayn't be about us then, Lucy. It may have happened a long time ago."

"Or maybe," Lucy suddenly brightened, "It's another prophecy and it hasn't happened yet. It might happen hundreds or thousands of years from now. There may be a time Narnia is in terrific peril and fire or war destroys the forest or Cair Paravel or…"

Peter's laugh cut her off, but she didn't seem to mind. "I can think of one person who might know." The older boy paused, his look encouraging her to solve his little riddle.

She didn't disappoint, guessing immediately what he hinted at: "Oreius! Centaurs know all about prophecies and wars and things of that sort." The girl whirled quickly, closing the book as she reached trustingly for Peter's hand, allowing him to help her up from the seat and not removing it afterwards.

Together, the pair headed downstairs towards the practice yard, certain they would find the centaur in his habitual role of trainer to the Narnian volunteer fighters.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Two: Prophecies and Pilgrims

Chapter Title: Prophecies and Pilgrims

Author: Sam

Story: A Narnian Prophecy: 2 of ?

Note: The Ruined City in the _Silver Chair_ is unnamed and centuries old. Its only identifier is that it is within view of Harfang.

xxx

Narnia didn't have a standing army; everyone participated as he or she saw fit. Fortunately, her inhabitants so loved Narnia that raising an army seemed to be little problem; making sure they worked together cohesively in battle was. Therefore, the Centaur, Oreius, now official Military Advisor to the Kings and Queens of Narnia, had arranged regular drills to be attended on a voluntary basis. Often large attendance numbers made using one of the courtyards very impractical, quickly forcing them to create a training area which could hold almost a hundred in tight formation; several other proven warriors ran regular drills in other similar areas.

Upon reaching the closest practice yard, Peter and Lucy found the expected Dwarves, Satyrs, Centaurs, Leopards, Bears, Wolverines, Dogs, Foxes, Badgers, and even a pair of Rhinoceroses being instructed in battle formations by Oreius. The _unexpected_ person they found was their brother, Edmund, the second, younger, King of Narnia. He stood to the side of the mass of bodies, quietly discussing something with Oreius as they watched the drilling Narnians.

Breaking away from Peter, Lucy excitedly ran over to the pair and unashamedly bestowed a fierce hug on Edmund, who looked surprised but not displeased. A mere year before, Edmund would have shunned the affectionate embrace; his time in Narnia had changed him, and for the better in Peter's opinion. Lucy pulled away and smiled at the Centaur, the leather book clasped in one hand. "Hello, Oreius."

"My Queen, it is a pleasure." His voice was deep and serious, but no one would have dared contradict his claim. "Sire," the Centaur turned his gaze on the High King, adding a brief bow of his head to acknowledge the young man's rank.

Peter smiled at his Advisor. "Hello, Oreius, how're the drills coming?" Duty, after all, outweighed curiosity.

Satisfaction tinged the deep voice as Oreius replied, "They are eager to learn and learn well. Rumblebuffin practices harder than any other and his diligence is admirable." Almost as if he'd been asked where the friendly giant was, since he certainly was not in the practice yard, Oreius gestured towards far off Beruna as he spoke. Peter took that hand movement to mean Rumblebuffin was drilling with whoever was in the large open space on the former battle sight.

"Good. He's a fierce, loyal warrior," Peter thought quickly of a compliment for the friendly, yet not so intelligent giant. "I'm glad he's on our side."

"Oreius," Lucy jumped in before either could say anything more. After all, it was rude to interrupt while others were speaking, but to interrupt while both were paused in conversation… that was a gray area at best. "Mr. Tumnus leant me this book on legends, and I was wondering about this one here." She quickly, yet still careful of the delicacy of the damaged book, flipped to the proper section and turned the verse towards the Centaur.

At his advisor's quick glance for approval, Peter smiled and nodded, giving silent permission for the warrior to break their conversation. It had taken some time for the young King to get accustomed to those permission-seeking looks; as '_High King of Narnia_', his opinion was sought more often than when he'd only been '_big brother of three younger siblings_'.

Just as careful with the delicate book, Oreius reached down and gently took the leather volume from the young queen. He solemnly perused the passage as if it were a great war treatise or something of the sort. Finally, after several long minutes, he lowered the book and asked, "What is it you desire to know, Your Majesty?"

Lucy smiled and explained, "Peter and I couldn't decide if it was a legend or a prophecy, and just what it meant, Oreius. I think it's a prophecy; is it?" She had moved closer to the chestnut-flanked Centaur, not seeming to mind the slightly horsy scent of him.

Once more, Oreius perused the verse then turned his serious brown eyes on the little girl. "It is a prophecy, Your Majesty. It concerns a threat to Narnia's freedom."

The smile slipped from her face, and Peter felt a tinge of alarm, his uneasy feeling of the morning coming back full force. He jumped in. "Do you know the rest of the prophecy, Oreius?"

"I do not have it memorized, Sire, but I can attempt to find it. This is, unfortunately, but a little of the prophecy. It concerns a threat which erupts into battle on Midsummer's Eve. If the threat is not eliminated, Narnia's royalty will be slain and the beasts will suffer." He frowned thoughtfully, the attention of the very interested Pevensie siblings not disturbing his thoughts. "Magic, naturally, comes into play, as often it does in these prophecies." Finally, the Centaur shook his head, his mane-like black hair swishing back and forth even as a back hoof stomped. "I do not recall the rest, but I will search for it, Sire."

Edmund finally entered the conversation, inadvertently interrupting what Peter meant to ask. "Could it have anything to do with the White Witch? May it already have come true and we've gone beyond it? After all, the Witch did take over and everyone suffered." Since the question was as interesting as his own, Peter turned expectant eyes on Oreius, waiting his turn.

Oreius did not disappoint, though the answer was _not_ what Peter had hoped. "True, Your Majesty, that evil time was much as I described; however, this prophecy gives the hope that the evil can be stopped while the royalty still lives. Anything concerning the Witch had no such hope… except for the Prophecy of the Four Thrones, which was given many years after she came into power. This prophecy," he gestured to the book, "came about before her time, centuries ago, and that is why it is in this book of legends: it has yet to come true, and to some, that means it will not." The Centaur rolled his brown eyes at the ignorance of some people.

"We can see it means a King and Queen of Narnia will fight, but make up to fight an enemy of Narnia." Lucy offered, hoping her translation might jar a bit more of Oreius' memory.

The centaur shook his head. "That is a possible meaning, Your Grace, but I do not think…"

Two trumpets, winding but seconds apart, interrupted the small gathering as well as the larger, drilling group. Confusion registered in many faces. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy looked at one another, then the three as one turned and hurried towards the west side of the castle, furthest from the sea, where the horns sounded again. Oreius, as well as the majority of the volunteer army, followed their royalty.

As the rather large group made its way to the front of the castle, they joined with Queen Susan, the last of the Pevensie siblings, and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, two trusted advisors to the rulers. Peter stopped by his sister's side, his eyes not on the dark-haired beauty but on the sight before them. So interesting was the spectacle, in fact, that the High King failed to notice the arrival of Tumnus, another trusted advisor and dear friend, at his other side.

What unfolded before them was a procession of horses and riders followed by wagons laden with supplies and goods enough for perhaps a month's lodging for the near two dozen travelers. The horses had the look of the dumb, witless animals which lived outside of Narnia, plodding along as instructed by the people who rode them or drove them or lead them. The people all appeared to be human, dressed for long travel in durable leathers and wool of dark, dull colors for all but the seven who rode in the fore. Those six ladies and one man were dressed in the gayest of reds and yellows, ribbons trailing from the manes and tails of their mounts, laughter ringing from raised, merry voices. Following, close behind were men garbed as guards and women as maids and laundresses and servants of all work.

Stepping forward to greet this unexpected party, Peter bowed cordially and said, in a courteous voice, "Well come, Fair Ladies, Great Lord. Well come to Narnia, by greeting of the High King Peter. What brings your merry troupe to our lands and our home?" He felt odd using such odd speech, but had studied the formal means of addresses enough in the past year to know what was expected, odd seeming or not, though technically he could have had one of the many watching Narnians great the travellers instead.

The gaily dressed man trotted his horse up to Peter and smiled down at him in a sort of benevolent tolerance. "Well come, my good man, and tell your master, the High King Peter, and his fair court, that I and my ladies are here to celebrate their ascension to the thrones of Narnia and Narnia's future peace and prosperity." With a large smile for the surprised young blond, the equally blond man lifted one leg over the saddle and slid down his horse's side, without waiting for assistance from his man rushing forward.

With a solemn voice, though those who knew him knew he was offended, Oreius said "You address the High king as a servant, sir." To the far side of Tumnus, Oreius stamped a hoof, watching the newcomers with disapproving eyes but expressionless features, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest.

Stopping, the man blinked in surprise, turning an amazed look on the centaur. After a brief moment to study to half-man-half-horse, he nodded and turned back to Peter, bowing low in apparent humility. "My apologies, good Master King. I meant no disrespect. I was not aware of your youth, though your feats, and those of your royal house, have spread even to our humble northern abode. If I have offended you, please know it was by no choice of mine, but by ignorance alone." Straightening, the man strode towards Peter, hand outstretched in all amiability.

Peter did nothing to stop Oreius, Mr. Beaver, Tumnus, and a dozen other loyal Narnians from starting forward to block the stranger's approach. He did, however, nod his head briefly and say, "Your well wishes, and those of your men, are well received. Whom do we address? From whence come you?"

Again, the man halted his forward momentum, a slight frown crossing his features. Apparently he was the type of man whom adjusted to any circumstances, however, for he gave a small shrug and smiled wider, gesturing grandly at his group. "I am the Lord Yarrow and these are my daughters. We come from a small northern country little heard of in most parts; mayhap, however, you have heard of our neighbor? The good people of Harfang reside but over the rise to our northern border and do claim us allies and friends. They are a merry, hearty people who well like visitors and visiting."

Having never heard of Harfang, or many of the other lands beyond Narnia's borders, as yet, Peter turned his head to face Oreius, watching for clues as to how to react to this man's recommendation. Oreius gave him the briefest of nods, indicating that he, also, had never heard of these lands. Tumnus, next to Peter, was equally clueless on the travelers' identities. Making a quick decision, based out of necessity to treat these people either as welcome guests or distrusted strangers, Peter chose the former.

He smiled at last, and his people moved aside to allow the newcomers access. Holding out a hand, he clasped the suddenly outstretched on of the man before dropping back a small space. "Well come, again, to Narnia. Please, come inside and refresh yourselves at your leisure. We will await you in the receiving room with refreshments and good converse." And Peter nodded his head in greeting before turning and striding into Cair Paravel amidst his siblings and peoples. As he moved, he was very aware that Tumnus, officially holding a high office in the court, strode forward to lead the guests to rooms and fresh water, enduring the same study which the man had given Oreius.

xxx

To Be Continued in Chapter Three - when written


	2. Prophecies and Pilgrims

Chapter Title: Prophecies and Pilgrims

Author: Sam

Story: A Narnian Prophecy: 02 of ?

xxx

Narnia didn't have a standing army; everyone participated as he or she saw fit. Fortunately, her inhabitants so loved Narnia that raising an army seemed to be little problem; making sure they worked together cohesively in battle was. Therefore, the Centaur, Oreius, now official Military Advisor to the Kings and Queens of Narnia, had arranged regular drills to be attended on a voluntary basis. Often large attendance numbers made using one of the courtyards very impractical, quickly forcing them to create a training area which could hold almost a hundred in tight formation; several other proven warriors ran regular drills in other similar areas.

Upon reaching the closest practice yard, Peter and Lucy found the expected Dwarves, Satyrs, Centaurs, Leopards, Bears, Wolverines, Dogs, Foxes, Badgers, and even a pair of Rhinoceroses being instructed in battle formations by Oreius. The _unexpected_ person they found was their brother, Edmund, the second, younger, King of Narnia. He stood to the side of the mass of bodies, quietly discussing something with Oreius as they watched the drilling Narnians.

Breaking away from Peter, Lucy excitedly ran over to the pair and unashamedly bestowed a fierce hug on Edmund, who looked surprised but not displeased. A mere year before, Edmund would have shunned the affectionate embrace; his time in Narnia had changed him, and for the better in Peter's opinion. Lucy pulled away and smiled at the Centaur, the leather book clasped in one hand. "Hello, Oreius."

"My Queen, it is a pleasure." His voice was deep and serious, but no one would have dared contradict his claim. "Sire," the Centaur turned his gaze on the High King, adding a brief bow of his head to acknowledge the young man's rank.

Peter smiled at his advisor. "Hello, Oreius, how're the drills coming?" Duty, after all, outweighed curiosity.

Satisfaction tinged the deep voice as Oreius replied, "They are eager to learn and learn well. Rumblebuffin practices harder than any other and his diligence is admirable." Almost as if he'd been asked where the friendly giant was, since he certainly was not in the practice yard, Oreius gestured towards far off Beruna as he spoke. Peter took that hand movement to mean Rumblebuffin was drilling with whoever was in the large open space on the former battle sight.

"Good. He's a fierce, loyal warrior," Peter thought quickly of a compliment for the friendly, yet not so intelligent giant. "I'm glad he's on our side."

"Oreius," Lucy jumped in before either could say anything more. After all, it was rude to interrupt while others were speaking, but to interrupt while both were paused in conversation… that was a gray area at best. "Mr. Tumnus leant me this book on legends, and I was wondering about this one here." She quickly, yet still careful of the delicacy of the damaged book, flipped to the proper section and turned the verse towards the Centaur.

At his advisor's quick glance for approval, Peter smiled and nodded, giving silent permission for the warrior to break their conversation. It had taken some time for the young King to get accustomed to those permission-seeking looks; as '_High King of Narnia_', his opinion was sought more often than when he'd only been '_big brother of three younger siblings_'.

Just as careful with the delicate book, Oreius reached down and gently took the leather volume from the young queen. He solemnly perused the passage as if it were a great war treatise or something of the sort. Finally, after several long minutes, he lowered the book and asked, "What is it you desire to know, Your Majesty?"

Lucy smiled and explained, "Peter and I couldn't decide if it was a legend or a prophecy, and just what it meant, Oreius. I think it's a prophecy; is it?" She had moved closer to the chestnut-flanked Centaur, not seeming to mind the slightly horsy scent of him.

Once more, Oreius perused the verse then turned his serious brown eyes on the little girl. "It is a prophecy, Your Majesty. It concerns a threat to Narnia's freedom."

The smile slipped from her face, and Peter felt a tinge of alarm, his uneasy feeling of the morning coming back full force. He jumped in. "Do you know the rest of the prophecy, Oreius?"

"I do not have it memorized, Sire, but I can attempt to find it. This is, unfortunately, but a little of the prophecy. It concerns a threat which erupts into battle on Midsummer's Eve. If the threat is not eliminated, Narnia's royalty will be slain and the beasts will suffer." He frowned thoughtfully, the attention of the very interested Pevensie siblings not disturbing his thoughts. "Magic, naturally, comes into play, as often it does in these prophecies." Finally, the Centaur shook his head, his mane-like black hair swishing back and forth even as a back hoof stomped. "I do not recall the rest, but I will search for it, Sire."

Edmund finally entered the conversation, inadvertently interrupting what Peter meant to ask. "Could it have anything to do with the White Witch? May it already have come true and we've gone beyond it? After all, the Witch did take over and everyone suffered." Since the question was as interesting as his own, Peter turned expectant eyes on Oreius, waiting his turn.

Oreius did not disappoint, though the answer was _not_ what Peter had hoped. "True, Your Majesty, that evil time was much as I described; however, this prophecy gives the hope that the evil can be stopped while the royalty still lives. Anything concerning the Witch had no such hope… except for the Prophecy of the Four Thrones, which was given many years after she came into power. This prophecy," he gestured to the book, "came about before her time, centuries ago, and that is why it is in this book of legends: it has yet to come true, and to some, that means it will not." The Centaur rolled his brown eyes at the ignorance of some people.

"We can see it means a King and Queen of Narnia will fight, but make up to fight an enemy of Narnia." Lucy offered, hoping her translation might jar a bit more of Oreius' memory.

The centaur shook his head. "That is a possible meaning, Your Grace, but I do not think…"

Two trumpets, winding but seconds apart, interrupted the small gathering as well as the larger, drilling group. Confusion registered in many faces. Peter, Edmund, and Lucy looked at one another, then the three as one turned and hurried towards the west side of the castle, furthest from the sea, where the horns sounded again. Oreius, as well as the majority of the volunteer army, followed their royalty.

As the rather large group made its way to the front of the castle, they joined with Queen Susan, the last of the Pevensie siblings, and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, two trusted advisors to the rulers. Peter stopped by his sister's side, his eyes not on the dark-haired beauty but on the sight before them. So interesting was the spectacle, in fact, that the High King failed to notice the arrival of Tumnus, another trusted advisor and dear friend, at his other side.

What unfolded before them was a procession of horses and riders followed by wagons laden with supplies and goods enough for perhaps a month's lodging for the near two dozen travelers. The horses had the look of the dumb, witless animals which lived outside of Narnia, plodding along as instructed by the people who rode them or drove them or lead them. The people all appeared to be human, dressed for long travel in durable leathers and wool of dark, dull colors for all but the seven who rode in the fore. Those six ladies and one man were dressed in the gayest of reds and yellows, ribbons trailing from the manes and tails of their mounts, laughter ringing from raised, merry voices. Following close behind were men garbed as guards and women as maids and laundresses and servants of all work.

Stepping forward to greet this unexpected party, Peter bowed cordially and said, in a courteous voice, "Well come, Fair Ladies, Great Lord. Well come to Narnia, by greeting of the High King Peter. What brings your merry troupe to our lands and our home?" He felt odd using such formal speech, but had studied the proper means of addresses enough in the past year to know what was expected, odd seeming or not, though technically he could have had one of the many watching Narnians great the travelers instead.

The gaily dressed man trotted his horse up to Peter and smiled down at him in a sort of benevolent tolerance. "Well come, my good man, and tell your master, the High King Peter, and his fair court, that I and my ladies are here to celebrate their ascension to the thrones of Narnia and Narnia's future peace and prosperity." With a large smile for the surprised young blond, the equally blond man lifted one leg over the saddle and slid down his horse's side, without waiting for assistance from his man rushing forward.

With a solemn voice, though those who knew him knew he was offended, Oreius said "You address the High king as a servant, sir." To the far side of Tumnus, Oreius stamped a hoof, watching the newcomers with disapproving eyes but expressionless features, his strong arms crossed over his broad, bare well-muscled chest.

Stopping, the man blinked in surprise, turning an amazed look on the centaur. After a brief moment to study the half-man-half-horse, he nodded and turned back to Peter, bowing low in apparent humility. "My apologies, good Master King. I meant no disrespect. I was not aware of your youth, though your feats, and those of your royal house, have spread even to our humble northern abode. If I have offended you, please know it was by no choice of mine, but by ignorance alone." Straightening, the man strode towards Peter, hand outstretched in all amiability.

Peter did nothing to stop Oreius, Mr. Beaver, Tumnus, and a dozen other loyal Narnians from starting forward to block the stranger's approach. He did, however, nod his head briefly and say, "Your well wishes, and those of your men, are well received. Whom do we address? From whence come you?"

Again, the man halted his forward momentum, a slight frown crossing his features. Apparently he was the type of man whom adjusted to any circumstances, however, for he gave a small shrug and smiled wider, gesturing grandly at his group. "I am the Lord Yarrow and these are my daughters. We come from a small northern country little heard of in most parts; mayhap, however, you have heard of our neighbor? The good people of Harfang reside but over the rise to our northern border and do claim us allies and friends. They are a merry, hearty people who well like visitors and visiting."

Having never heard of Harfang, or many of the other lands beyond Narnia's borders, Peter turned his head to face Oreius, watching for clues as to how to react to this man's recommendation. Oreius gave him the briefest of nods, indicating that he, also, had never heard of these lands. Tumnus, next to Peter, was equally clueless on the travelers' identities. Making a quick decision, based out of necessity to treat these people either as welcome guests or distrusted strangers, Peter chose the former.

He smiled at last, and his people moved aside to allow the newcomers access. Holding out a hand, he clasped the suddenly outstretched one of the man before dropping back a small space. "Well come, again, to Narnia. Please, come inside and refresh yourselves at your leisure. We will await you in the receiving room with refreshments and good converse." And Peter nodded his head in greeting before turning and striding into Cair Paravel amidst his siblings and peoples. As he moved, he was very aware that Tumnus, officially holding a high office in the court, strode forward to lead the guests to rooms and fresh water, enduring the same study which the man had given Oreius.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Three: (when written)


	3. Introducing Tensions

Chapter Title: Introducing Tensions

Author: Sam

Story: A Narnian Prophecy: 03 of ?

xxx

"I don't trust them," Susan stood next to one of the tall, narrow stained glass windows that adorned the long walls of the Receiving Room. The south wall was taken entirely by large intricately carven wooden doors, closed but not barred. A smaller, six-foot door stood open in the centre of the massive right-hand one. The north wall was lined with tapestries and a long table bearing an elaborately embroidered table runner with a hunting scene scrolled the entire length. Many chairs and smaller tables lined the windowed walls, sparkling with prisms of early morning sunshine radiating through multi-coloured glass scenes of great historical moments. Few windows bore the pleasant yet bland pastoral scenes which must have once graced all of the windows. The one Susan stood by had recently been a duck pond near a small meadow. Now it bore a scene of Edmund smashing the wand of the White Witch with a gradient yellow backlash to signify the magical explosion which had triggered; Edmund avoided looking at that window whenever possible.

Peter sighed and turned from his absent perusal of a window depicting a dark blue night scene in which a large white hare triumphed over a series of invaders, unaware that his dark blue outfit nearly matched the rendition of the Narnian hero Moonwood the Hare. He looked at the elder of his two sisters, younger than him by only a year. "We've only just met them, Susan. How can you like or not like them?"

Shaking her head, long dark hair rippling smoothly over her back and hips, sunlight playing over the rich emerald gown she wore, Susan turned fully to her older brother. "I didn't say _like_, Peter. I don't _trust_ them. The man stares at the Narnians as if he were staring at caged circus animals. He seems awed and curious and afraid and covetous all at once." She thrust her hands on her hips and shook her long mane of mahogany hair again. "I felt as if . . ." Susan fell silent not because of a loss of words but for a loss of how to use those words to express her feelings. Words came easily to Susan, expressing emotions did not.

"As if they are looking at some fascinating new toy they can't wait to unwrap at Christmastime?" Edmund supplied, watching his older sister carefully. He leaned against the massive left-hand door, his russet tunic and dark brown trousers blending neatly with the scrolled woodwork. His short trimmed black hair and suntanned skin marked him different than his siblings, who were paler than he despite their outdoor activities. Somehow, Edmund had always seemed just a bit out of place next to his handsome blond brother and pretty brown-haired sisters. If he hadn't looked so much like Father, he might have wondered at his own parentage.

With Edmund's comment understanding spread over Susan's beautiful features, she was turning into a really very stunning young woman, and she nodded. "Yes, Edmund, that's exactly how the man looks: like a man at Christmastime."

"Did you see his look when Oreius told him Peter was the High King? The man looked like he would fall over." Lucy giggled, bringing a hand to her face, long turquoise sleeve sliding down to expose her arm; the other arm was still wrapped around the old, damaged leather-bound book of legends Tumnus had leant her. "I think he didn't expect the High King to be quite so young."

Peter looked from sibling to sibling, giving a faint smile to Lucy in acknowledgement of her amusement but turning his full attention on the other two. "I agree," he said, eliciting a surprised look from Susan and a nod of approval from Edmund. "The women were looking over everything like someone at market looking for flaws to haggle a price down." The things they spoke of, circuses and haggling at markets, seemed so foreign to their new lives, as if they were a part of a fading dream. "And he told me to inform the High King he was here, but he never did say who he is and why we should want him here." The eldest Pevensie sibling brought one hand to his chin and stroked the smooth skin absently as he thought. It was a habit Peter had unconsciously picked up from Tumnus, who often stroked his little goat-beard when he thought, just before he held his horned head in his hands and walked around on his cloven hooves and cried "ohh ohh ohh!"

Lucy walked quickly to Peter and placed a lightly tanned hand on his dark blue sleeve, smiling up at him with a spark of something . . . mischief? . . . in her eyes. "Maybe they aren't used to talking beasts, Peter."

All three older children looked down at the youngest, varying degrees of surprise registering on their faces.

Letting out a laugh, Peter hugged his sister to him, still careful of the delicate book of legends she'd carried throughout the entire morning. "I think you may be right, Lucy. It wasn't so long ago that we were stunned by talking beasts ourselves." He sent a smile of reassurance to Susan, who continued to frown. "Now, Sue, don't get that way. You don't have to be closest of friends, but you can at least be polite and tolerant to them. They've come a long way from home to visit us."

"Size us up," Susan grumbled, but when Peter cocked his head in question she merely shook hers in reply.

With a soft smile, Peter reached over and placed a hand on Susan's emerald-coloured sleeve. His voice sounded gentle. "They won't be hear forever, Sue."

"Hardly," added Tumnus in a bracing tone. He pattered in through the small door and stood near them, a deep blue scarf wrapped around his bare shoulders, reflecting his appointment as a royal administrator. "It's actually customary for folk to travel to visit during the Midsummer Festivals. They pack up and go home after the final night and the Midnight Faun's and Satyr's Festival. They'll hardly have an excuse for staying longer unless invited to do so." He sent a determined smile Susan's way, startling a surprised look from her. "One can't invite oneself to stay after that without breaching all sorts of social protocol. They'll have to go home."

Edmund turned a laugh into a cough behind his hand, brown eyes dancing in amusement.

Not bothering to look at her younger brother, Susan straightened her shoulders and ran her hands down her skirts, smoothing unseen wrinkles from the fine cambric and lace. "That's a relief, then. If we cannot like them, we won't invite them. Fourteen days is plenty long enough to determine if we like them or trust them."

"The Lord Yarrow," intoned Mr. Beaver from the doorway, his manner everything one could wish for in a courtier. "The Lady Anemone. The ladies Watsonia, Ixia, Scabiosa, Freesia, and Tritoma." He paused, turning his whiskery beaver face towards those who stood in the corridor and whispered something unintelligible to the royal party inside the Receiving Room. Finally, he turned back with a decidedly beaverish frown and stepped into the room, allowing the visitors to accompany him. The man and six women entered, all dressed in vivid warm colours. A seventh, teenaged girl, dressed in grey and sporting an apron, slipped in and stood back near the left-hand door without a word, seemingly unaware that she stood quite close to Edmund.

Lord Yarrow, dressed in yellow of the brightest shade, bowed his head and shoulders to Peter, bestowing a pleasant smile on the two girls and Tumnus. He did not turn towards Edmund, none of the new arrivals did; either they did not see him there or did not consider him worth acknowledging. Lord Yarrow held out his hand to Peter, much as he had in the courtyard. "Your Majesty, thank you for your gracious welcome. Our rooms are quite elegant."

Peter ignored the man's hand as Tumnus stepped between them, blocking further access to the High King. With a smile, Peter nodded once, gracefully, and said, "you are welcome." Before he could speak further, or introduce his siblings as etiquette demanded, Lord Yarrow jumped in with his own introductions. The slight, placing his daughters in rank above the royal party, was not lost on the Pevensies or their retainers.

"May I introduce my daughters, Your Majesty? This," and he turned towards a woman of mid-twenties, holding out his hand, "is my lovely Anemone."

The woman stepped forward and dipped a low curtsey, her dress of purple highlighted with bright magenta edging and trim. Magenta ribbons were wound through the intricate honey-blond curls of her coiffeur and she wore dark amethysts and garnets at her ears and throat. "Majesty." Her voice was clear as a bell, pleasant and musical. Her figure was trim yet shapely and she moved with self-assured grace.

Peter bowed politely but didn't speak. He had been trained for the last year for such a moment but now it had come, he felt out of place, awkward and childish in this grown-up party of brightly dressed visitors.

"The second daughter of my mother, Watsonia," Lady Anemone said and turned with a small gesture towards an attractive platinum blonde of perhaps twenty-four years.

Watsonia curtsied, as graceful and self-assured as her elder sister. She was dressed in a flowing salmon-coloured dress with darker salmon swirls blended cleverly into a shimmering pattern that caught but did not overwhelm the eye. "Majesty," she echoed her sister then gestured to the next in line. "The third daughter of our mother, Ixia."

This one was dressed in marigold with hints of red-orange in the underskirt and under-tunic as well as in the ribbons laced through her light golden hair. Ixia's smile was wider, her eyes larger, than the older two, and she shook a little as she curtsied. She rose with a determinedly larger smile and gushed, "Your Majesty, this is a beautiful palace!"

At a disdainful look from Anemone, Ixia paled a bit then copied the introductory gesture of her sisters while turning slightly to the fourth in line. "The fourth daughter of our mother, Scabosia."

A woman of twenty-two curtsied so low to the floor it was almost a surprise that she could rise again without assistance. She was dressed in purple with splashes of pink throughout, rather like someone had taken a brush and sprayed colour across the fabric. The effect was a riot of pleasing shades, as surprising in its attractiveness as the dark strawberry-blonde woman. The previous three sisters had light, bell-like voices. This one did not. Her voice, instead, sounded a breathy soprano, as if she were in a rush to get her thoughts out. "Your Majesty. May I present the fifth daughter of our mother, Freesia?" She gestured grandly, arm sweeping so wide she nearly knocked into Mr. Beaver who ducked backwards with sharp reflexes.

Freesia stepped forward and curtsied, though not as low as her sisters. She brought a hand over her mouth as she giggled but subsided at Anemone's glare of disapproval. Dressed in a fuchsia-coloured gown trimmed with ribbons and bows of white, yellow, and magenta, Freesia appeared the most fussily dressed, though the over-all picture the dark blonde made was of classical beauty. She said, in a whispery voice much like Scabosia's, "And the sixth daughter of our mother, Tritoma, Your Majesty."

The last woman, at twenty years old, was the thinnest and tallest of the sisters. She wore a dark red dress which gradated to a lighter orange as one looked towards her feet. Unfortunately, this colour scheme seemed upside-down; with her dark blonde hair, the lighter colour should have been at the shoulders, though it was lovely. She grinned, winced at Anemone's glare, then modified her grin into a look of hauteur. "Your Majesty," she said in her bell-like voice.

All six women would be hard to sort out. If they stayed with the colours they'd chosen to wear that day, it might be possible, or if one could recall which shade of blonde each woman sported for hair. But the voices were too similar. If the women lined up, the eldest could be said to be the most beautiful, and the youngest, the least, but that comparison was not an easy distinction either.

Finally, Peter turned to Tumnus and nodded permission to introduce the royal family, which should have been done before Lord Yarrow had introduced his own. The highest ranking people always were introduced first. Perhaps, though, things were done differently in the northern land these people hailed from.

Tumnus bowed to Peter and said, clearly, "His royal majesty, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Isles . . ." he continued with Peter's vast array of titles and distinctions, which seemed to make Lord Yarrow more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Tumnus ended with "Sir Peter, Wolf's Bane." It was the first time Peter had heard all his titles together; even he had to admit it was an impressive, rather overwhelming listing.

When Lord Yarrow opened his mouth to comment, Tumnus ruthlessly cut him off by saying, "And Her Majesty, Queen Susan of Narnia." Before the loyal faun could list Susan's titles, Ixia, the third of the visiting sisters, exclaimed "but you're married?"

Peter flushed, as did Susan, while Lucy giggled. Edmund rolled his eyes and called from the back of the room, causing the pale grey-dressed servant to turn and watch him, though she seemed unsurprised that he stood so close. "No, Queen Susan is sister to High King Peter." Edmund nodded to the unnamed servant then pushed off the door and strode forward. He stopped next to Lucy as he bowed. "King Edmund. And this is Queen Lucy."

The visitors seemed nonplussed for a long moment before Ixia once again hazarded an opinion. It seemed she was the most spontaneous of the sisters. "How very odd. Two kings and two queens? But how do you decide which is the one that makes the laws and is obeyed?"

Edmund turned to the twenty-three year old woman and answered, quite seriously, "we discuss laws and come to an . . accord. All of us are obeyed. High King Peter is the king above all Narnian kings, though."

"How droll," giggled Freesia, apparently the one with the most absurd sense of humour.

"Yes, very," Lord Yarrow said, a frown in his voice if not on his face. The man studied Edmund carefully then turned his eyes on fifteen year old Susan. Finally he let his eyes rove briefly over the much younger Lucy, as if she were of little import. "How tragic that you should lose your parents at so young an age." He turned back to Peter, ignoring the spark of indignation in Edmund's dark eyes or the answering annoyance in Susan's. "Your guardian must feel overwhelmed at times with four contesting rulers to guide."

Peter stiffened immediately, his face taking on a sternness that bespoke the last year of ruling, despite the congeniality of his people and the lack of his age. "You question our worth?" He did not clarify whether he spoke for his siblings or not, but the pure animosity in Peter's voice denoted that he certainly had mastered the _royal we_.

Almost comically, Lord Yarrow stepped back, shock crossing his face. "Not at all, Your Majesty, not at all. I am a father who could only imagine the tragedy of leaving my children on their own. They're mother died long ago, as has their step-mother, and I find it overwhelming at times merely thinking about them on their own, without my love and guidance should some tragedy occur.

The words, while conciliatory, did not ease the tension in the air. It built as if it were alive until King Edmund the Just finally took action, suiting his title more than he realized.

"Thank you but your worry is not needed. Our condolences on the loss of both of your wives." He bowed to Lord Yarrow. "I believe luncheon is served. May I have the honour of leading Lady Anemone in?" Though Lucy held the higher rank, and thus would have been escorted by Edmund normally, his extension of courtesy did not go unheeded. The eldest of Lord Yarrow's daughters smiled and placed a hand on the fourteen year old boy's sleeve as if he were the most dashing of courtiers.

Peter offered his arm to Susan then turned to lead the party out of the Receiving Room and down the corridor to the vast dining room. Edmund lead Anemone behind them. Lucy smiled at the hesitant look on Lord Yarrow's face and slid her hand into the crook of his arm. She tugged gently and he seemed to recollect himself, leading the young queen behind her siblings. Each of his other daughters followed without escort, either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the beasts as equals. The beasts didn't seem to mind, though. Tumnus followed in the rear with Mr. Beaver.

The last to leave the room was the silent, unnamed grey-clad servant.

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Continued in Chapter Four: (when written)


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